


It's Not A Hangover

by SaucyWench



Series: Cups and Roses [5]
Category: Being Human (UK), Britchell - Fandom, Mitchers - Fandom, The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: M/M, Mentions of past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4351457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaucyWench/pseuds/SaucyWench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders never gets sick.  Well, until he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not A Hangover

Anders didn’t get sick. Sure, he might feign an illness as an excuse to dodge his family or get out of an obligation. Sometimes he got hangovers. But he didn’t get sick.

So when he woke up with a sore throat and a fever, he tried to ignore it. He took a shower as hot as he could stand, but it didn’t stop the chills. He couldn’t stop shivering, but it was when he threw up that he finally conceded defeat.

After dressing in a warm tracksuit, he glanced at the clock. He was supposed to be at work in fifteen minutes. He grabbed his phone and called the office. Of course Dawn was already there. When she answered the phone, he said, “Morning, Dawn. I won’t be coming in to the office today.”

“Anders, are you hungover?” Dawn asked.

“What do you think of me, Dawnsie?”

“That you are a barely functional alcoholic,” Dawn said, sounding resigned.

“That’s hurtful. I’m functional,” Anders protested, but his heart wasn’t in it. He felt as if he was going to be sick again and needed off the phone.

“We have those contracts that you need to sign today, and the campaign you were supposed to look over,” Dawn said but he wasn’t really listening.

“Have a courier bring them to my place. I’ll sign them and send them right back, I swear.”

“But what about –“ Dawn tried to say, but Anders interrupted her.

“It can wait. I know you can handle the office today.” He dropped the phone and barely made it to the bathroom before he was sick again.

When he was done, he flushed the toilet and brushed his teeth. He grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and went into the living room. Wrapping up, he settled on the couch. He knew Dawn would send the paperwork over right away, so he’d just relax and rest until it got here.

Trying to rest became lying on the couch in a shivering ball, sliding in and out of a fevered doze. He hated being sick. It brought back too many memories of his childhood. His father would be gone, his mother would be passed out drunk, Mike would be out doing who knew what, and Anders would be trying to take care of Ty and Axl. Kids are little walking germ factories anyway, and one of them would pick up whatever bug was making the rounds that month. Then it would spread to the other, and Anders would always get it too. He’d have to nurse his brothers even if he was on the verge of collapse.

Asking for help wasn’t an option. One time Ty’s fever wouldn’t break. It kept rising until Anders was terrified of possible permanent damage. He woke his mother up and insisted she call the doctor. Instead she gave him a beating before leaving the house. He ended up with a bloody nose, trying to wash a screaming Ty down with wet washcloths chilled from the freezer, while Axl sat in the hall crying. Finally the fever broke and Ty appeared to have suffered no lasting effects. It still was one of the scariest times of his life.

Anders learned not to show weakness as well. If he got sick, he’d be lucky if all he got was mocked. Once he had a cough during one of his father’s rare visits home. It woke up his father, and he got one of the worst beatings of his childhood. There had been flecks of blood in his urine for a week afterward. No, showing weakness of any sort wasn’t a good idea.

A knock on the door startled him fully awake. He was disoriented for a second, the past overlapping with the present. When the knock sounded again he jumped. Then he scolded himself for being nervous. He was a grown man now. He didn’t have to run and hide if there was a knock.

Leaving the blanket in a heap on the couch, he rose to answer the door. Instead of the courier he was expecting, Mitchell stood there holding two cups of coffee and file folders tucked under his arm, beaming a smile.

“Morning,” Mitchell said, sounding entirely too cheerful. “I went by your office to see if you wanted to pick up an early lunch, but Dawn told me you were nursing a hangover. I brought your contracts and coffee, instead.” He thrust one of the paper cups at Anders.

Anders took it but didn’t drink. Right now the last thing he needed was coffee. His stomach did a slow flip at the thought. He shuffled back to the couch, saying, “Thanks. You can leave the papers on the table.”

Mitchell didn’t take the hint. After he dropped the folders on the table, he joined Anders on the couch instead of leaving. He said, “We can still go get lunch. Isn’t greasy food supposed to help a hangover?”

The thought had Anders’ stomach do another lazy roll. Afraid he would vomit if he opened his mouth, he just flapped a hand in Mitchell’s direction.

Mitchell caught it and raised it to his mouth with a little smile. Before he could kiss it, the smile was replaced with a frown. He flipped it over and laid his lips against Anders’ wrist. He took a closer look at Anders and said, “Since when do hangovers come with a fever?”

Anders tried to pull his hand away but Mitchell was hanging on tight. With a surge of irritation he said, “I never said it was a hangover.”

Mitchell pressed his free hand to Anders’ forehead and murmured, “You’re burning up.”

Ducking his head away, Anders said, “Leave off, I’m fine.”

“You’re sick,” Mitchell said.

Anders stood and jerked his hand out of Mitchell’s grasp. “I said I’m fine!”

He went to the kitchen and Mitchell followed him. “Anders, you aren’t fine. You have a fever and I can hear your lungs rattling from here.”

“Stupid vampire hearing,” Anders muttered.

With a smile, Mitchell said, “I heard that.” He lost the smile as he went on, “At least sit down and rest.”

Anders ignored him and grabbed a glass. He got the vodka from the freezer and poured a hefty swig.

Before he could drink it, Mitchell plucked the glass out of his hand and asked, “What are you doing?”

Unable to keep the sullenness out of his voice, Anders said, “Drinking clear liquids. Isn’t that what people are supposed to do when they are sick?” He got another glass and gave Mitchell a scathing look.

Mitchell scowled and stepped forward, pinning Anders against the counter. In a quick move, he snatched the bottle away.

Anders flinched back. Then he closed his eyes and braced himself because he’d always get hit twice as much for flinching.

Instead of the expected blow, the weight holding him in place vanished. He opened his eyes and saw that Mitchell had stepped back and was giving him a funny look.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Anders,” Mitchell said in a tone usually reserved for small children or skittish animals.

That’s when Anders identified the look as pity. A bubble of fear coated with anger burst in his chest. He spat out, “I don’t need your pity. Thanks for bringing the contracts. Goodbye.”

“I just want to help,” Mitchell said, still using that soft voice.

It only made Anders angrier. “I don’t want your help! I’m not your responsibility! You’re not my nanny, you’re my fuck buddy. So right now, be a buddy and fuck off.” He skirted around Mitchell and went back to the couch and turned on the television. Part of him was cringing at the hurt on Mitchell’s face, but he didn’t apologize. He needed Mitchell to leave so he could lie down before he fell over. He could make amends later.

A long beat of silence from the kitchen and then Mitchell said, “Okay, I’m sorry. I thought we were going to have lunch though and I’m starving. Do you mind if I make a sandwich or something?”

Anders sighed. He always kept a fully stocked kitchen. Everyone knew that. His family, Dawn, even Zeb knew that there was always food in his house. He might make a show of complaining and protesting, but he would never turn anyone away if they were hungry. He’d spent too many days with an empty stomach to begrudge anyone a meal.

“Go ahead,” he said.

Mitchell didn’t say anything else. He started digging in the pantry and getting out pots and pans.

Anders stared at the television and ignored Mitchell. He was feeling worse though, so he wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and leaned his head back.

He must have dozed off again. A gentle nudge on his arm woke him.

“Here,” Mitchell said, offering a steaming mug.

Anders took it and peered at it. “What is this?”

“Soup. That’s what people are supposed to do when they are sick,” Mitchell teased, but there was no bite to the words. He set another steaming mug on the coffee table and said, “That one is tea.” He returned to the kitchen.

Anders took a sip of the soup and held the mug in both hands, relishing the warmth. He couldn’t remember anyone ever making soup for him when he was sick. It was out of a can, but it felt good on his sore throat and wasn’t upsetting his stomach.

Mitchell returned, carrying two mugs of his own. He was also balancing a plate with a couple of sandwiches cut in halves, and had a bottle of medicine tucked under one arm. He set the plate where Anders could reach it and then shook two pills out of the bottle, passing them to Anders. “Take these.”

Anders obeyed, washing them down with a swallow of tea. He grimaced at the sandwiches, though. He wasn’t even able to finish the soup before he was full and tired. A glance at Mitchell showed he was still nibbling on a sandwich, engrossed in whatever crap show was on.

Dizzy, tired, and still feeling awful, Anders gave up on waiting the vampire out. He said, “I’m going back to bed. You can see yourself out when you’re done.”

Mitchell nodded, still watching television. Anders went back to bed, taking the blanket with him. He fell asleep almost as soon as he hit the pillow.

He woke later to see a glass of cold water sitting on his nightstand. There was still ice in it, and it tasted wonderful. He could hear voices from the living room, so Mitchell must have left the television on when he left. Anders couldn’t find it in him to care right now. After finishing the water, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

The next time he woke, it was to a gentle patting on his shoulder. He cracked open an eye to see Mitchell sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Are you awake now?” Mitchell asked. When Anders nodded, he smiled and said, “Sit up so you can take these.”

Anders struggled into a sitting position. Mitchell handed him a couple of pills and a small glass of apple juice. He looked at the juice for a moment before taking the pills. He didn’t have apple juice here. There was orange and tomato, but not apple. Did Mitchell go to the store?

Mitchell took back the empty glass and said, “I’ll make you something for supper in a minute. Do you feel up to going back to the living room and eating in there? Or would you like me to fix you a tray so you can eat in bed?”

“Why are you doing this?” Anders asked him. “I thought you were leaving after lunch.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone while you’re sick,” Mitchell answered with a shrug.

Kindness always came with a price. Nothing was free, so Anders warned him, “I’m not really up to having sex tonight. Or playing blood donor.”

Mitchell got that hurt look again. “I’m not here because I expect anything, Anders.”

Trying to understand, he asked again, “Then why?”

“Because you always take care of everyone else. Maybe I want to be able to take care of you for a change,” Mitchell murmured.

“No one takes care of me,” Anders scoffed.

“I know. And it’s about damn time someone did.” He rose and said, “I’ll make some more soup.”

Anders watched him leave. He still didn’t understand why Mitchell was so determined to take care of him, but he was grateful. Deciding he’d had enough of being in bed for a while, he made his way back to the living room.

After a dinner of more soup in mugs, Anders was snuggled up against Mitchell’s side. Mitchell was rubbing small circles on his back, and he was warm and full.

“Mitchell?” When he got a questioning hum, Anders continued. “I’m sorry I was an asshole earlier.”

Mitchell kissed the top of his head and told him, “That’s okay. Some allowances are made for sick people.”

Anders huffed. “I’m not that sick. But thank you. For cooking and staying.”

Another kiss before Mitchell said, “You’re welcome. I’d like to stay the night, too.”

“I’m still not really up to anything,” Anders said.

“Not for that.” Mitchell sounded exasperated. “I can sleep on the couch. I’d just feel better knowing you aren’t alone.”

Anders didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t reply.

Later, after more pills, Anders was in bed with Mitchell spooning around him. He still didn’t know why Mitchell seemed so determined to play nurse. Even so, he said, “Mitchell?” A sleepy grunt, but he went on anyway. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” Mitchell kissed the back of his neck before ordering, “Now go to sleep.”

Anders closed his eyes and obeyed. He was unaccustomed to feeling cared for and safe, especially when he was sick. He’d accept it like the gift it was, though, and try to enjoy it while it lasted.

 


End file.
